


Feel It Through

by zaynsuniverse



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Choking, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Implied Anxiety Attack, M/M, Masochist Harry, Unintentional, artsy and literature fun, bad flirting and reading each other too, harry gets hurt A LOT, physically, sadly no pumpkin carving, suck at tags like i suck dick happy halloween ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 20:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12540012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaynsuniverse/pseuds/zaynsuniverse
Summary: A wicked smirk, but unreal. Black oil paint makes a wide streak from ear to ear, but it smears on the right cheek where Zayn had punched. Zayn barely processes the fact that this isn’t a malicious brute. Behind his costume of a vile skeleton, he’s just another person working a night shift with some halloween makeup on.☾Sorta goes like, Zayn accompanies Niall to the local Halloween attraction. Then something like, it all starts when Zayn punches Harry in the face.





	Feel It Through

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer, though I am uncertain if that is the correct word, story states Zayn fears a lot, but none of it is too serious - it's what anyone would feel at a place where they’re afraid (there’s obviously spooky things in this setting, I too am scared of Halloween attractions). But, with only one mini scene there is an indirect use of anxiety.
> 
> There are fuck ups with the schooling and age! I use the guys’ accents but did American schooling and location. Yikes, its all on me. Barely revised.

 

Fake spider webs on the shrubs, tacky carved jack-o-lanterns creating a path towards the entrance. Zayn cringes as he inches closer towards Niall, though attempting to make his disinterest less apparent because he knows how much Niall loves all things Halloween themed. He stays close because he’s got a fear for unexpected things lurking in the dark. Niall knows that, which is why he lets Zayn hook their arms together. 

“You know we’re just getting tickets. Don’t have to dig your fingers into my skin.” Niall comments with a laugh but Zayn thinks he is slightly irritated so he lets go, making a small distance between that.

Niall lets out another dramatic cackle, “Geez, mate. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just holding too tight and the fun hasn’t even started!”

“It’s not even going to be fun, Niall.” Zayn considers all the tremendously ugly — though very professional, Zayn admits — costume makeup, the raggedy clothes they would wear to present the impression of a mental butcher or a pathetic mutation. Halloween fright events are irrelevant because they’re using it as an lame excuse have a traditional October _thing_. It’s just so unnecessary, Zayn thinks; to take money and then scare innocent people.

Zayn isn’t aware the last part slips out his lips until Niall is shoving at him, “We pay because we want the thrill, Zayn.”

“Well, I don’t.” Zayn mumbles to himself, digging the front part of his shoe into the stray hay sticks on the dirt ground.

Warmth on his shoulder makes him peer up because there’s a difference in temperature as the night remains cool. He sees Niall with a soft expression on his face, sighing, “You didn’t have to come. Don’t want to drag you anywhere you don’t want to go.”

“It’s cool. I promised.” Zayn had promised to accompany Niall to prevent him from being a third wheel with Louis and Danielle. It’s not like Louis considered Niall as a third wheel, because Louis invited Niall and Zayn. But, that’s the thing. Niall had complained that if Zayn didn’t go with him, then it would definitely make Niall feel uncomfortable following the couple like a missing puppy. Zayn did throw a fit, reasoning why he hates Halloween attractions, but Niall’s dumb begging had Zayn making an exception.

Making small talk (mainly Niall talking about how there’s nothing to worry about), the booth appears closer now. Already being assisted by an employee with an cheap material caveman costume and a glow stick around his birthmark-noticeable neck, they purchase four tickets.  

They only wait a few more minutes under a dim lamppost before they spot the couple’s arrival hand in hand. It’s only a quick introduction then Zayn is off making fun of how Louis and Danielle are wearing a couple’s complementary costume — Ken and Barbie, zombie edition.

Following with Niall ahead, and request of Louis and Danielle behind, Zayn already shield’s his eyes even though they’re barely passing through an archway with a ginormous spider clinging to it. 

 There are several attractions within the lot that they contemplate over when they’re finally welcomed in. There’s a corn maze, a haunted house (with several scenarios), and a train ride through the haystacks which Zayn thinks they should all attend, first and only.

 “Zayn, we came here for the haunted house so we’re going there. Shut up.” Louis says with a demanding tone and Zayn finds himself piping down immediately. Stupid friends, friends who are also very supportive because they attended a convention with him a few months back even though they knew they’d be exhaustedly dragging their feet across the shiny concrete. They hated the environment but stayed for the whole eight hours, just because Zayn asked them to.

 The guilt is evident, so he swallows his disagreement and decides that as long as he’s in between these twats, nothing could go wrong -- as Niall had said, and he trusts him. Too much apparently.

 Because within seconds of being inside the narrow haunted house attraction, he’s got his arms wrapping tight around Niall’s waist, his chin hooked above Niall’s shoulder. Zayn makes his grip aggressively tight, he fears that he might suffocate Niall. Or worse, Niall might get so scared, and with the tight pressure of Zayn’s arms, he just might scoff up what they ate for dinner. 

 “Remember Zayn. They’re fake. I mean, real people. But — ah mate. Nevermind. Just know, they’re not allowed to touch you.” Niall pats at Zayn’s intertwined hands on his stomach and Zayn suddenly feels less weight on his shoulders, gradually loosening the tenseness of his arms.

It’s humid in this space, a pitch black hallway with dim light bulbs that do cascade on the scary impressions against the walls. Air is thick with the artificial fog and the past participants’ heavy breath. No one has frightenedly popped up yet and Zayn is rather impressed. Because so far, he’s gets shivers, and sure he trips over the uneven wooden deck floor often, but isn’t screaming or squeezing Niall’s bicep. He’s good. 

 Though, Louis annoyingly hollers in his ear, which earns a hair tug from Zayn. Making it light heartedly, Louis teases, “No homo, but that was hot.” That one earns a pinch on his cheek from Danielle, jokingly of course but sometimes Zayn can’t tell when they do or don’t have banters. He doesn’t get relationships in general. 

The fear racks up eventually. It’s when they leave the toy maze section of the attraction, Zayn finds his heart rate accelerating. Descending the childish theme of women in bloody skirts, dressing up as dolls coming to life, and mutated faces through the techniques of makeup enthusiasts, they head towards a more paranormal scene.

Strobe lights flicker relentlessly left and right, with different acts jumping into their path. White, exaggeratedly pale faces and long black silky hair swing with every leap they take to scare the groups of guests. Darkness follows up with more steps, making it difficult to see any props in this room so he’s already appreciating this scenario rather than the previous one. He’s still afraid anyhow.  Though Zayn finds himself feeling calm and collected, often having Niall’s hand in his left, and Louis’ in his right. 

A sense of accomplishment rises to think that they’ve already surpassed two of the six rooms in the warehouse and he hasn’t felt the need to jump into Niall’s arms or piss his pants.

Somehow, this night is mocking his assurance because, between the intervals of one setting to the next, he body flinches at one act in a bloody white coat who tries chasing them with a syringe and just like that, he’s neglected.

Making holes in his soles are the least of his worries. His palms slam at the black wall to escape because all he recalls are the two directions that were meant to lead them to new routes. It would’ve been fine, they still would’ve been a group, if it weren’t for the creepy doctor hot on their heels with a huge fucking needle. But now Zayn struggles to trace the steps of his mates. 

 He stumbles through an excessive amount of spider webs that throws him into a room with countless mirrors, a reflection of his fearsome face haunts him more than anything because he’s finding himself looking awfully pathetic. He could drop any second now, curling in the corner out of fear and distraught; but something in his system prods him to make a run for it before someone else finds him.

There’s still nothing to worry about. He knows. Niall told him, too. It’s not the creepy costumes and realistic props and intricate decorations. Zayn doesn’t know what he’s afraid of. Probably the dark and abandonment because thinking of earlier, he did fear the dark rooms and not being close to his mates. It could be that but he really isn’t analyzing the reason for his terror, anyways.

 Zayn makes nimble steps wherever he doesn’t see himself in view and finds success when he’s in a different room with more people. More, scarier, people. The environment feels heavy with too many faces. Guests partaking the event are laughing their arses off and Zayn fails to understand the tears coming from humor, unlike his root of tears, from this panicky feeling. Something that’s making his stomach turn and his heart unsteady like an alarm clock ringing endlessly on its nightstand. Again, he could fall any second now, like the metaphorical alarm clock.

 Off to the side, children _who probably aren’t even children_ sit in their beige victorian dresses with neck frills around their tilted heads, heinous grins like they’re ridiculing Zayn. He thinks _that’s it_ , because their hair is swaying. Wind of some sort is near. 

 Running a hand through his hair with his head raising high to prevent any prickling tears from falling even more, he sees a glimpse of the moonlight on the other end of the large metal door. Leaping off into the distance — literally jumping quick before his mind could have any inclination — he sets forth.

There’s cool breeze, signaling that he’s close to the exit of the warehouse any second now. Before he could get a break, there’s someone reaching for his shoulder the same time as he reaches for the door. Instincts are quicker than thoughts by the time the coolness wraps around his body; he smells the night air with a mixture of the haystacks and burning pumpkins.

An unfamiliar feeling arises, other than the tumbly stomach stir. This is a hand on his shoulder, it’s gentle but doesn’t stop Zayn from warning, more like screaming, “Fuck off, mate!”

The shriek from the left doesn’t belong to him. Zayn comprehends that one, a slight cry sound, rather than what he heard prior which resembled a little kid shouting, “Boo!” His knuckles suddenly ache, and peering over just after shaking his head, he sees a figure hunching over with a weak posture.

A wicked smirk, but unreal. Black oil paint makes a wide streak from ear to ear, but it smears on the right cheek where assumably Zayn had punched. Zayn barely processes the fact that this isn’t a malicious brute. Behind his costume of a vile skeleton, he’s just another person working a night shift with some halloween makeup on. Zayn sees the way a tear prickles from one side of the stranger’s face and it induces Zayn into apologizing immediately, “I am very sorry. Shit. I am so sorry.”

“No, it doesn’t hurt. I swear. It’s okay.” He raises his hands up in defense but tries to get a hand on Zayn’s shoulder, which Zayn shies away from. He continues during Zayn’s tense rejection, “But are you okay? I scared you bad. Like, for you to punch me.”

The bloke’s voice is drawl, Zayn thinks he could fall asleep because it’s midnight and he’s exhausted from the fear and race — now, this voice can definitely lend a little more. But something about it makes Zayn want to hear it some more because it’s also soothing. He doesn’t know how to approach the question, though, because he’s feeling pathetic. “I wasn’t that scared.” Zayn shrugs and pockets his hands.

“Well then,” the unexposed skeleton getup says, “I am in very much pain and I think my jaw is dislocated.”

“No. You just said you were fine!” Zayn responds, a bit defensive. He’d be terribly sorry if he actually injured somebody that harshly. And he didn’t even punch at his jaw. Was his cheek.

“Hmm, you said you weren’t that scared. I thought we were exchanging lies here.” _Cheeky_ , Zayn is certain.

Instead of pointing out the obvious flirting (or teasing, he doesn’t know _what this is_ , maybe a friendly thing), he goes on with his humiliatingly, “We can exchange names instead. I am Zayn.”

“Harry. Styles. Not a scary skeleton groom or anything.” His long limbs flail up in a shrug and he tugs on his collar. When he rubs down his chest to straighten his well fit black suit, Zayn is slightly distracted. Lost by the way his hands move gradually and tantalizingly slow. It’s almost impossible to tear his eyes away from. Eventually he does when Harry clears his throat in a nervous way.

Zayn can’t see _him_. Can’t see anything underneath the heavy costume makeup, nor seeing what’s behind those black contacts but he’s fond — having a heavy interest for Harry’s sweetness from the first impression.

“Could I help you in any way? The punch, you know.” Zayn stumbles on his words because he remembers that Harry insists there’s no pain. He even remember’s that he came here with three people. Those who’ve legs picked up faster to leave than to search for Zayn. He continues in a respectful tone, one different from the last few sentences that have escaped his mouth, “Or you could help me. I’ve lost my friends.”

“Yeah. I mean I could say I’ve gotten an injury and get off early. Wait — you said you lost your friends so you just — I uh, well. Directory is —”

“Shut up.” Zayn senses Harry’s pure nervousness, like he doesn’t know his own intentions, nor Zayn’s. Zayn would rather help them out both because that’s how straightforward he is. Despite feeling only a little uneasy by how he’s attracted to this masked stranger, he still manages to have some boldness when he approaches, “Let me help you clean off the makeup. For bruises, in case.”

Harry nods, asking him to stay for a second. Zayn almost cries _no_ because he doesn’t want to be left with other grotesque figures. Here he surrounds himself by more zombie themed people because this is where he had casted off into apparently after punching Harry. 

“Right. Just told someone my spot is empty.” Harry mentions and walks away from the cemetery scene as if he knows Zayn’s fucking frightened. “You know, the ending, my part, is the most important position.”

 Why?” Zayn asks out of politeness, not any genuine care.

It’s more quiet now, under the noticeable moon when they’re distant from the warehouse. Just their shoes scruffing from the light kicks at the dusty surface. There are no more whiny screams from the guests, nor any demonic screeches from the presenters telling people to _get out_.

“That’s how we run people out. Like you. More of a rush when you’re being chased out like you’re unwelcomed, right? Instead of just walking and thinking it’s the end, we like to get people.” Harry tells with a grin that looks good even from under the oil paint plastered cunning one. 

Zayn scoffs, didn’t think his pockets could get any deeper but it does, “Yeah some arsehole in a lab coat chased my friends with a needle and that’s how I lost them.”

“When people are afraid, it’s a good review.” Harry says proudly.

 “You guys are insane.” Again, it shouldn’t be a tradition to have one month for freaking people out. He won’t ever understand the thrill of paying just to be frightened. He knew he should have gone to the line with the train ride.

Harry’s shoulder presses against his gently, “You’re the one who came here when you knew you couldn’t handle it.”

“You don’t know me.” It’s a stupid thing for Zayn to say as he comes off with a sly voice, and some offense but barely. He’s certain nobody knows him enough, obviously his friends don’t know he even _exists_ because nobody has given Zayn’s phone a ring, asking if he’s alright.

“Don’t. Yes. But I’d like to.” Harry’s words impress him, too much that Zayn doesn’t respond, only walking side by side until Harry can initiate something first. Like asking Zayn what he does when he isn’t at irrelevant Halloween events. Or who he came with, because if Zayn is reading this right, he would hope that Harry tries to confirm Zayn’s relationship status. It’s something most people do anyways, say something completely stupid in the hopes that they would be corrected or informed. 

But Harry doesn’t ask any of that. 

Instead, he casually suggests to get something to eat from one of the food trucks on the lot, after they get Harry undressed. Which, Harry’s cheeks turn red, body language like especially with his hands, moving all flustered in defense, “I need to change out of costume, I mean!”

  

“Do I come inside too, like am I allowed to?” Zayn inquires because Harry is walking into the back end of the warehouse where it says _ghouls and gals only_. So he assumes the staff of the function is allowed access, and he really shouldn’t. But, Harry insists that he does, so he goes.

Behind the scenes is actually interesting. With people setting up more props and others getting their masked makeup done. Zayn finds a whole new respect for these people, feeling bad for any of them who might of been hit before -- like the accident Zayn had done to Harry.

“So, meet my dressing room,” Harry announces. Zayn thinks it’s an actual dressing room with clothes hanging on a metal rack with cool light bulbs around a large portrait mirror. Not really. It’s just the two of them walking through black drapes with one body mirror and an outfit swung over it. 

Harry reaches for a bag leaning against the mirror, “Uhm, so I am going to take my makeup off, then change. You can like, leave if you —”

Zayn reaches this duffel bag from him and points to the ground, which Harry complies with immediately. He criss crosses his legs with a lapful of his hands folded, so patiently seeming to see what Zayn’s intentions are. Zayn explores the light bag and finds cucumber scented makeup removal wipes; he tries not invade anything else.

Zayn’s shadow hovers Harry when he’s leaning forward to get one palm beneath Harry’s jaw and the other already cleansing away Harry’s cheek firstly, which earns a wince from Harry. “And you said it didn’t hurt.” Zayn says distantly, jokingly irritated.

“Okay, just a little. But don’t get too pretentious here.”

“Good words for someone who’s a dead skeleton. Your bride? Where, because your vows must of been stunning.” If Harry won’t indirectly ask Zayn about his status, he’ll do it for the both of them, again. 

Now with him taking all the first steps, he thinks that it’s only one sided. He might just stop after clearing Harry’s face from the oil paint and tell him he can’t eat because he isn’t in the mood for having butterflies for someone that is probably just being nice to him. Harry seems like he would be nice to anybody. Reflecting back to the first impression Zayn received, Harry apologized for how scared someone seemed. Who does that? Surely, Harry is only being generous to Zayn because he pities him for crying and losing his friends. Zayn intends to end all of this and just wait on a haystack until he sees a familiar face. He just wants to hear Harry’s response to the bride implication first to be certain.

But his breath hitching happens before Harry himself could reply. 

Clear from all the product, he looks so pure. Second thought, he might spend the night with Harry some more, even if it’ll kill him. He almost died from mortification minutes ago anyways. Now, if he could get Harry to take off these black contacts, he might swoon harder than ever — yet, he’s not sure if he wants that. It’s difficult to make any real eye contact due to the contacts hindering Harry’s own eyes, but that should be sort of a good thing because proper, direct contact like that makes him nervous. Zayn should probably stop staring at _what he thinks_ is Harry’s pupils.

“Is something wrong?” Harry comments dainty. As expected, it must be concern from Zayn’s silence (and his creepy gaze on Harry). He averts his eyes from Harry’s eyes for a split second, peering over to where he could see a forming bruise on Harry’s cheek. He thumbs at it gently without saying a word like the pad of his thumb could heal Harry from any pain instantly with that delicate touch.

“Nothing. Just a little red. Might be purple tomorrow. Or a shade of green. Blue and purple sometimes, I guess.” Of course Zayn would talk about shades. And of course Harry doesn’t need a lesson on colors. But Zayn loves art and loves how Harry looks when he’s confused and vulnerable, he just doesn’t know what to do with Harry in front of him like this. Soft.

“Oh, have to get an ice pack then. Tell my mum I got it from defending an old lady when she was about to get her purse stolen.” Harry attempts to bring his hand to his cheek but Zayn prevents it by holding Harry’s wrist.

Zayn chuckles, releasing a breathy laugh, “What?”

“I was making a joke,” Harry responds and purses out his lips before sighing expressively, “If I told her that this was from a customer, she wouldn’t let me work here.” Addition to that, Zayn finds out that Harry is eighteen, only doing this for a seasonal job during his first year. He still has full financial and dedicated support from his mother, speaks about her a lot, very highly, and Zayn thinks again, _he should really stop_. But he won’t because he appreciates Harry’s company while he’s alone in this spooky zone. Right, that’s the only reason.

 

With twinkly lights above them, in orange mason jars dangling around the whole eating area, Zayn finds instant comfort. It’s less scary, and more festive. Like how Halloween should feel — not the ghosts and monsters, but pumpkins and leaves. 

Already, he adores Harry for having patience because Zayn is dallying in circles, scrutinizing the menus from the several food trucks. Harry hasn’t said a word, but he thinks he can hear his stomach growl — or maybe it’s Zayn’s.. He hurries out a decision anyways, walking towards the taco truck but he does confirm with Harry if that’s alright, which he earns in response, another new fact about Harry, “One of my favorites.”

Looking over his shoulder where Harry seeks for a table to sit at like a little pigeon in search of breadcrumbs, his heart lunges instead of skips when it beats. 

He nearly gets cut in line due to his distraction but thankfully the employee hollers loud enough for Zayn to order. He remembers to get a lemonade because Harry had mentioned he loved sweet drinks. Zayn wouldn’t know, he’s the type to drink black coffee if that says anything about himself (bitter beverages, he concludes that less sugary drinks will make him live longer).

Zayn knows he’s gone insane. When he’s waiting in line for his meal, and when he’s walking over to he and Harry’s seat, all he stares at is the way Harry fumbles on some mittens and how he rubs at his cheeks with the soft material. He’s never really paid too much attention to little things like this, but has an endearment for all things Harry.

“I’ve got as you requested. And lemonade. If you’re into that.” Zayn cringes at the last part, wanting nothing more than to run back into one of the halloween attractions because it would feel better than having to hear what Harry might say.

“Thank you. But you’re sweet enough, I would have settled for water.” That’s a good initial response, wasn’t what Zayn would’ve reckoned.

Zayn is a proper mess around guys that he likes, or even those he’s attracted to for the most part. He doesn’t know if he likes Harry, it’s only been about an hour but he is certain Harry makes him feel delightful inside. About the mess around men, Zayn is always unsure how to react around them, never knowing how to read signs or what type of flirty tactics might cross any boundaries too soon. With women, it’s easier because they swoon over his defined cheekbones, and lean figure with his broad shoulders. It’s easier to determine if he’s taking them home. Right now with Harry, that thought doesn’t even cross his mind, he just wants to eat tacos and drink lemonade with him. But he can’t do that if all his ingredients are already toppling over out of his tortilla, Harry cackling at him and still looking pretty even if he’s got some food in his mouth. Sour cream and cilantros, hot salsas and mexican rice descending all over his jeans and the table. 

Cleaning it quickly, he disregards Harry’s tips to get any stains out before he throws his pants into the wash. Though he wants to listen to Harry because he loves his voice and would love to hear Harry go on about not rubbing and using warm water and some vinegar, he’s too red in the face, too swindled in warm feelings of anxiousness and embarrassment.

Harry is about to assist but Zayn insists that it’s fine, besides, he really isn’t trying to have Harry touch his dick already within the first date — if this midnight snack would even be considered a date. His jeans seem clean but he wouldn’t know how to explain the dampness nor the white smear if he were to see Niall or Louis, if he finds them. Speaking of —

“Zayn! There ya’ are!” That familiar voice chimes boisterously in the distance. He groans to himself because within the last hour, he decides to finally approach Zayn when he’s eating with Harry. Where was Niall when Zayn was about to kick all of the mirrors in that one maze.

“Hey.” Zayn says solemnly.

Niall obnoxiously scoots at Zayn’s side of the bench, pressing his shoulder very closely to Zayn, “What you’ve got there? Try mine!” Niall has some type of red paste noodle, what Zayn figures could be pad thai because of the crushed nuts, bean sprouts, and bright orange shrimp. Niall twirls his fork to get enough stir fry noodles around it and at this point Zayn can’t decline, parting his lips when he meets the taste between his mouth.

“Oh, hi. I’m Niall!” Zayn’s unobservant friend inches his arm out to Harry, Harry responding with a brief introduction that gives off a different tone than what’s been directed to Zayn all night.

Niall starts fawning over all the appealing ingredients that _bounce of his tongue making him want to hug the chef_ , until Harry clears his throat, seeming mature but Zayn also finds it peculiar, “So how do you two know each other?”  
  
“It was like a double date thing until Zayn ran off with you really.” Now, between he and Niall, it’s obvious that Niall is being a tease. It’s actually more friendly than it seems. But anyone outside of Niall, Zayn, and Louis’ group wouldn’t understand the way they talk to each other.  
  
Hence, Harry.  
  
He looks offended. But before Zayn could clarify anything, Louis arrives in what is the most perfect timing — it’s complete sarcasm, obviously — because one of Zayn’s friends just ruined his interaction with Harry, again. “Hey, look and he is found!”  
  
“Niall, you dimwit! Are you interrupting Malik here with someone right across him? Hop off your own way.” Louis says with sass as he slaps the back of Niall’s neck.  
  
Harry’s smile is tight, “No, it’s fine. There’s plenty of room.”  
  
“Such a doll you are.” Louis manages to sit on the table anyways, legs dangling. He brings Danielle closer to him by an arm around her waist, smiling brightly, “I’m Louis, and this is Danielle.”  
  
Zayn feels weird, indescribable really, seeing his friends getting along with Harry. They’re all having small talk about the different attractions on the lot, which makes Zayn roll his eyes because he really can’t relate. He just watches Niall chow on his food while he, himself picks at the cilantros falling off his taco.  
  
“Pardon me. Going to see if our order is done. Nialler was right about getting Thai food. Yet I still went to the longer line.” Louis waves and the table is two people less now.  
  
“I’ll go with! I need a refill.” Niall stammers in, tripling when he swings his legs over the bench, making that three people less.  
  
Or simply back to how it originally was, just Zayn and Harry.  
  
Zayn shifts nervously, fingers fiddling with the end of is paper plate while he averts his eyes everywhere behind Harry. It takes him a second to finally gather up the courage to meet Harry’s eyes. And there he sees it, Harry’s got that simple simper as if he doesn’t know any other expression (because he’s always smiling and Zayn doesn’t get that). Not forgetting to mention Harry’s eyes twinkle so pretty when they’re visible and he just. He doesn’t get that either.

A second in, he does intend to pipe up, wiping at his lip first because with Harry’s wide smile still present, there must be something on Zayn’s face that is amusing Harry. “Sorry about all of this. They’re a lot.” Zayn says, referring to his boys and peers over to where they’re skipping off in the distance towards a fast food burger truck.  
  
“No, no. It’s cool. They’re who you came with anyways. I should leave then. You have them now. It’s what you needed me for anyways.” Harry’s demeanor is difficult to read now and he begins to raise the duffle bag strap over his shoulder.  
  
“Stay!” Is all Zayn could come up with, aside from standing up just to put two hands on Harry’s shoulder from across the table. He retracts his hands back to his sides and flashes a nervous smile, “I mean, please. Yeah? Stay now. And I’ll make up for this next time. Maybe we can do something like this again because I would like to.”  
  
“And he’s fine with it?” Harry nudges his head in Niall’s direction.  
  
“Course.” Zayn nods causally. He puts the back of his hand flat down onto the wooden surface, “Give me your phone.”  
  
Despite Harry’s hesitant look, he hands it over anyways. Zayn intends on adding his phone contact, which he does, giving himself a stupid, rememberable contact name: _boy who punched you_.

“Zayn,” Harry laughs, thumb running along the sides of his phone.

“Ew, fuck is up with your pants, mate?” Louis sits down next to Zayn and balls his hands into a fist and drums it a beat or two on Zayn’s thigh.

 

“Are you tired?” Zayn asks Harry when they’re all planning their next destination, whether it’s home or resorting to another attraction. It’s just them two a few feet away from the others, crumbly leaves from drowning out both conversations a bit. So he doesn’t know what’s next, but he wants to see how Harry’s feeling before making plans with his friends.

“Just a bit. I’ve been here since sunset, which was seven.” Harry actually yawns on the dot then goes on about how he should of remained at his job until closing at three. Zayn would feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for Harry adding, “But I am willing to stay up a bit with you. You and your friends, I mean.”

Turns out that Louis’ teeth are chattering from the chilliness, Zayn would say something witty about how it’s his own fault for wearing a costume even though he knew the midnight would be freezing, but he doesn’t say that because he doesn’t want to come off aggressively rude around Harry, yet.

Harry even admits that the dark night air is making goosebumps to arise, making Zayn offer his jacket but he declines.  
  
The smell of haystacks and rotting pumpkins are fading away when Zayn gets closer to the pavement of cars. 

“I’ll walk you to your car.” Zayn offers when he sees that Harry is standing underneath a halo of light while the group he arrived with is walking towards an opposite end.  
  
“I actually was going home with a coworker but he’s still on the shift.” Must explain why Harry is oddly leaning against the lamppost.  
  
Right now is his best shot, one he decides to take. An environment where he isn’t afraid of what lurks in the dark, away from suggestive stares from Louis -- his car where it would only be he and Harry. “Oh, means you’d wait. You could come with me.”

“And Niall.” Niall says on his own, making Zayn’s daydream above his head (Harry resting his cheek against the foggy window with droopy eyes) fade away.

“No, Niall needs to watch the twins tomorrow. He’ll sleep over at my place.” Louis says directly, in his tone that usually prevents Zayn from opposing, so he’s hoping that Niall takes it the same way and agrees with Louis obediently.  
  
Wrong. Niall doesn’t get it. He’s challenging, “You never even —“ until Danielle interjects, jabbing at his side with her elbow. 

There’s a weird exchange of stares before it breaks into laughter amongst Niall, only himself. And Harry is just an incredible person because he giggles with him. Zayn can’t tell if it's just because Harry is assembled with the nicest, most generous genes, or if something Niall did was actually funny. 

Louis mentions some poor excuse of needing to get up early tomorrow and drags Niall along by the arm that isn’t clinging onto Danielle. But he doesn’t stop there. Yards away, he shouts, “Ask Zayn about a costume party!” 

Zayn makes a mental note to thank Louis later despite the little snide things he’s done throughout the night. And to not accompany Niall for anything asks for in the future. But then again, if he never came here, he wouldn’t of met Harry.

“Alright, so. I can drop you off straight away.” Zayn says, pointing into the distance, a sea of cars. 

 There’s something about walking with Harry, where he feels like it’s the most perfect time to get hand on the base of Harry’s spine or something. Feels like he should offer his jacket, but it doesn’t look like Harry would really like leather, plus, the sleeve ends might stop at his elbows. That’s exaggerated, but Zayn thinks he can envision Harry with it on, and he likes it.  
  
“About the party.” Harry says when they’re in the car, moments after Harry had mentioned his address. Zayn feels like he knows it without direction because it’s in the same area Niall is from. Alright, Niall is better than Zayn thinks, two points for him.

“Oh, Louis likes doing things like that. His family usually hosts something really huge and then when his parents leave to do some traditional shit, he turns it into his own bash.” When Harry asks for more about Louis’ family (why is that the only part Harry took out of the conversation?), Zayn mentions how his younger siblings would visit their cousins and his parents went out of town for well, Zayn never knew too much. Just knowing that Louis has done this the last four years and it’s still annually ongoing.

“Any other questions?” Zayn expects Harry to ask to come, didn’t even care to explain the origin of these parties. He just wants Harry to come and check it out for himself. Right now, wanting Harry to be curious over Zayn and his life, not about his friends or fucking Halloween because Zayn hates this holiday -- if that is even one.

“What are you showing up in?” At least he’s talking about Zayn so that’s a start.

“I might not even go.” Zayn admits.

Harry makes a face when he peers over wanting to attempt to read any facial expressions with the flash of the red light seeping into his skin. Nothing that Zayn can understand. Only until Harry looks at him and says, “I wanted to know so I could look for you.”

“Oh,” Zayn responds soft, loosening grip on the steering wheel.

“If you could tell me the address or give me Louis’ number, I would like that. I love things Halloween.” 

“I forgot. I am going.” Zayn musters up suddenly, and the one word stirring in his mind keeps bouncing from his brain to his skull and everywhere else -- pathetic.

“That’s good then.” 

It’s not necessarily weird, just quiet now. Zayn doesn’t offer anymore small talk because he’s out of words. Never had any in the first place. The heater isn’t working as efficiently as it should, has been running with a weird smell and something more humid than warm for the last ten minutes. Zayn is also a lousy driver at night because he needs a little prescription for the blurred lines and darkness, so he breaks unnecessarily from time to time.

The uncanny does come to an end, Zayn turning on his emergency lights for Harry. Even as he’s preparing to leave he’s so soft. Harry’s fingers run through his hair gently, he’s tightening this scarf that Zayn is barely now appreciating. Hand on the handle that he pulls and his legs drop with his feet meeting the ground so light, like a feather. He’s all soft, but his voice is so different, Zayn remembers, when Harry ends with, “Don’t forget to text me your costume! Thank you. Goodnight.”

  

Zayn really can’t wait two weeks for the Halloween bash. It’s been a couple days since he’s seen Harry and they’ve been casually texting. Having a conversation within his palms is way more easier than seeing Harry face to face because Harry is just so attractive and says all the right words in the nicest voice. But he’s dealing with finding comfort in the presence of Harry. So Zayn texts Harry to meet him at a diner that’s somewhere in the middle of both their locations.

  

Spotting Harry is dramatically easy. He’s covered in a long trench coat with another cozy looking infinity scarf, pants tight as always (the second time Zayn’s seen his legs painted in black), and he doesn’t miss the brown ankle boots with a single inch heel, which, why would he need that as being, he’s tall enough. 

Zayn texts Harry to turn around because Harry is on the other end of the window. He looks in the direction of Zayn immediately, like Zayn’s a shiny, rare gem or the first time looking at life with color. With all this elation and eagerness he barges through the door, literally. Harry manages to trot into the transparent glass door while Zayn inches towards to pull it open. With a sudden shrieking laugh from Zayn, he gets the door open and takes Harry’s face into his palms. “Are you usually prone to pain?”

“Yeah, always -- I mean… no?” Harry’s face is not only presenting a red mark and fading bruise but confusion.

“It’s okay, Harry. I should get you some ice.” Zayn laughs and gets them to a booth where someone already assists them with water and ice wrapped in a cloth for Harry. 

Harry groans, wincing even when the coldness meets his forehead, “That was embarrassing. If you were in here, you’d here the loud sound my head made with the glass. 

“I did hear it.” Zayn finishes at the mere memory of Harry’s face first, the bang, and the way the transparent door vibrated. 

“Anyways, good choice.” Harry says, eyes wandering around the environment. A breakfast location in downtown where the walls are worn out pieces of wood and the tables are rustic, with glazed logs to sit on. It’s festive, especially with how they’ve strung fake autumn leaves around the ceilings and have mini pumpkins on every few tables. This is what the fall is all about, all of something Zayn loves, and would expect for Harry to enjoy as well. 

Things are going swell for Zayn when Harry gets even more in awe with his surroundings, the way his face contorts into something so amused, and Harry is even sighing contently, “Love the decorations. That too, really good.”

“I actually did those. I work here.” Zayn says shyly when he notices the way Harry observes the window art with all things fall and spooky. So alright, he did choose this place in hopes that Harry would really like, but also because it’s the only place he will eat a traditional breakfast. He won’t mention the fact that he’s got employee discounts.

“Should of done it to the door as well.” Harry teases, mouth dropping like he’s saying duh as he gestures to his makeshift ice pack.

Zayn offers a napkin because he notices the water dripping down Harry’s wrist, and decides to see where else the banter would lead to, “You walking into the door just means I did a good job cleaning those yesterday night.”

“Hmm, so you weren’t lying about working here.”

“Why would I lie?" 

“I dunno, maybe because you said you weren’t afraid, but you obviously were.” Zayn knows there’s nothing wrong with being afraid, but he likes keeping Harry on this edge. It seems to make Harry more curious and endeared over Zayn whenever Zayn doesn’t reveal too much about himself.

“Still on that, huh?”

Before either of them can continue their teasing, their waiter comes along taking their orders. Zayn takes note of how Harry orders a really sweet meal for something so early in the morning, chocolate chip pancakes with powdered sugar and tons of fruits on the side, he requested.

It’s probably the consumption of all these sweet things, because Harry only gets sweeter.

 

“Is that curly kid coming or no?” Louis says with an over-aggressive pat to Zayn’s back and Zayn restrains himself from rolling his eyes in disturbance when he sees that Louis’ is just in the nude with his costume draped over his shoulder. Zayn is nowhere ready -- only, he had intentions to impress Harry but kept procrastinating and now he doesn’t have an outfit.

It’s just him and Louis tidying up before the guests arrive and it’s barely sunset, but Louis can’t stop talking about he and Harry’s relationship. He’s already asking if they’ve got matching outfits, asking if he needs to reserve one of the bedrooms and and change the sheets, asking too many things that Zayn either declines or argues how he can’t predict the end of the night. 

 

An awful playlist blaring and people bumping into each other spilling overfilled drinks, it’s never been Zayn’s scene. He prefers to sit at the dining table with his own glass in his hand and his mobile device or a comic in the other. 

It isn’t until he hears Niall shouting for him, he decides to stand up and direct his attention to the party. Raising his head up, he sees Niall dragging along a tall slim figure, revealing skin with every inch. Harry stands poise and dainty with a halo on his head, reminding Zayn of the time he got to take Harry home. His skin seeming so smooth and soft underneath this shiny white attire, though some bits of his accessories are red and black. It’s almost like a rebellious angel, Zayn feels like there’s something deep to that.

“Harold is here! Enjoy some company, not that book of yours!” Niall hollers and shoves Harry a little too forcefully to the point where he’s tipping over forward, making Zayn reach for his hips to steady him.

“It’s not a book!” Zayn says but he’s aware that Niall probably didn’t hear it because he’s already off scarfing some finger foods in the other room.

Zayn is barely conscious of how his hands are still cupping Harry’s hips, their chests nearly pressing against each other but not close enough. “Zayn.” Harry says softly, his arms no longer over Zayn’s shoulders anymore.

“Hi, Harry.” He doesn’t really know what to do at this point, being that he usually doesn’t meet people at parties, doesn’t invite a plus one around here. He really is unsure and would love if Louis gave him a few pointers before starting the party, or if Louis could be a wingman here in general.

“A scarecrow, really?” Harry whines, reaching forward to fiddle with a button from one side of Zayn’s orange and brown flannel (which is one of Louis’ sister’s really loose item for fall fashion). He did try this time though, usually he’s wear a tee that says this is my costume, or have a pumpkin on it. But this, this is actually effort. He spent the last two hours dedicating some consideration on which Doc Martin shoe shades were best for the color scheme of the flannel. He even went to the thrift store for the right type of loose blue jeans for this. There’s even a little bit of eyeliner that Louis had applied for him for a little more effect.

“I didn’t mean that. I was razzing.” Harry says and it’s probably because he notices Zayn not exchanging any words back.

Now it's Zayn’s turn to feel shitty, feeling bad that he let himself have a daze right in front of Harry. Separating his overthinking from just how natural he would just go on with small talk, he says, “What’s razzing?”

“Really? Don’t you want to ask about my outfit instead?” He sure does. When Harry gives himself a playful twirl, Zayn takes in every little distinct detail of and on his body. He’s got glitter on his shoulders and elbows and knees, almost everywhere actually but it's tained on those ends most. Harry’s shorts stop at his mid thigh while his shirt exposes these laurels on his hip. Zayn wonders how he did not notice that earlier when he literally had skin to skin contact with them earlier. And his face of course, he likes how Harry’s curls look less tame than usual and he’s just looking so natural and literally, angelic.

“So what are you?” Zayn clears his throat hoping Harry didn’t catch him staring too long again. His cheeks are feeling very warm at the moment, and his only way of coping casually is to pretend not to understand Harry’s costume, in their typical way of teasing that always seems to lessen the tension. 

“You ask a lot, don’t you?” Harry coos. Zayn nods and points at one of the seats which Harry declines. Harry nudges his head towards the kitchen where he leads the two of them outside the backyard sliding door. It’s more quiet out here and Zayn appreciates it. He offers a place that he likes to go to, considering Louis’ place is so large with tons of little ones running, they needed a huge with tons of square feet. Zayn takes them up the stairs that lead to the balcony with his favorite patio set where he’d talk to Louis and Niall about any of his problems while having a spliff. 

Zayn does one round of spinning, before facing Harry, who now Zayn thinks is cold and they shouldn’t of gone here. He’s asking concernedly now, “Is it too cold?” Before Harry could reply, he picks at the balcony door lock the way that he and the guys always had done, and grabs a throw from the couch. Coming back, he stands behind Harry and drapes the wool blanket over his shoulders. He softly asks, “Okay now?”

“My fault for this costume.” The way harry snuggles beneath the material, letting it rub against his chin, makes Zayn’s heart swoon.

“No, it looks nice.” _Nice_ , really Zayn, as if there’s no other word in the dictionary. He shakes his head before coming up with something else, “So like, criss cross thing going on. Explain.” 

“Almost like jumbo shrimp. This case, I am like a devious angel. Good and bad, you know?” Harry points at the horns on his halo, which Zayn did not notice at all. But now he sees some red glitter he didn’t before, if it was water it would be dripping down his arms and legs. He wants to be these little shimmering bits because they’re glued to Harry’s body.

“Oxymoron, babe.” Zayn didn’t intend on dropping nicknames with Harry right away, but for some reason it came out so smooth, flawlessly. He’s used to throwing nick names around, aware of how he feels and the other person, but Harry’s rosy cheeks and small grin has got to be his favorite initial response.

Harry chuckles and Zayn wants to hate him, despising his natural glow. Words form after that enchantment, “So you don’t know what razzing is but you know the device oxymoron. Hmm, alright, yeah.”

Zayn wants to share his happy mind for vocabulary, a passion for writing and coming up with fiction and poetry for fun, though the sound of the sliding door interrupts him from doing so. By the way the end of the door bangs against the wall too loudy, Zayn already knows which of his mates it is.

“I fucking knew you were going to be here! Not to interfere quiet time, but take a shot with me.” Louis groans, going closer to Zayn to pull at his collar but Zayn averts his eyes in Harry’s direction and he understands why Louis Probably didn’t see him -- he looks like a sack of potatoes while being underneath that heavy blanket. “Shit, sorry mate. I’ll leave then.”

Zayn smirks in defeat, glad Louis understood, however in a beep, Harry stands up and gives the blanket to Zayn, “No, it’s okay. Can I take one too?" 

“Uh, alright.” Louis says with a head scratch. If Louis is surprised, Zayn is more than that; he’s shocked, amused, impressed.

When Harry is out of sight, trotting through the door, Louis tugs on Zayn’s arm before he can follow. Louis flashes a grin that Zayn knows is a good sign -- to an extent -- and he asks, “Is he the one? You never find people who just fit. Never find people who even like me. Curly is a keeper. You better keep him.”

Downstairs, Zayn spots Harry with a familiar face, in a banana suit. He remembers the consultant from the attraction at the booth, now putting pieces together thinking that this must of been Harry’s friend on the shift. He didn’t tell Harry to invite a plus one, but it’s not a big concern. He’s just curious why Harry would invite someone anyways. He gets it, Harry doesn’t know this crowd, but why invite someone else without introducing them to Zayn -- that’s like proper party etiquette. 

“Hey, look. This is crazy.” Harry says when Zayn inches close to Harry’s side, not by a lot but enough to make his presence known.

“Yeah?” Zayn replies and directs his eyes to the guy on Harry’s other end, the one grinning at Louis’ like they know what’s going on. Zayn doesn’t understand a single thing.

Harry chuckles before speaking, “Did you know your mate Louis knows mine? Liam and I both told each other we were going to Halloween parties but didn’t know we’d be showing up to the same one.”

Zayn exchanges this weird embrace with Liam. He really isn’t the type to get touchy with strangers -- doesn’t even liked being touched period, well, Niall is the only exception because he’s hard to say no to. So to have this Liam guy’s arms tugging him in with his hand on the back of his neck, it’s weird. Period. He even says something like he’s praising or thanking Zayn for something but Zayn doesn’t seem to catch it, mostly because Liam says it muffled and to himself more than to Zayn.

Louis offers the story on how they actually have a three hour lecture together and bonded over a sport’s jersey they wore on the same day. They’ve done some bonding together playing on the grassy field, even with Harry there sometimes so Louis and Harry are both surprised by the fact that they’ve never seen each other before until that other night. 

“Okay, enough talking, Tommo. I asked you to get Zayn not sharing how I met my other half to a support group.” Niall clamps, then shoves a tall bottle of liquor at Zayn’s chest.

The music is still dumb as ever, not his taste, and where they are at the side of the living room is bearable, he’s capable of breathing at least. He doesn’t like these shot glasses because they look like they look more than what’s regular. He takes it anyways because Harry bottoms up quicker than any of the other guys once the liquid pools at the rim.

Harry takes three shots, no chaser, earning amused applauds and screams from Zayn’s friends. Apparently Louis continues to claim on how he fits right in and that everyone loves Harry on party mode. Again, this isn’t really Zayn’s type of way to have fun but if Harry’s into this, then he wouldn’t mind going to all the parties Niall gets invited to.

Standing in the circle of just them five, Harry’s getting a little woozy, leaning against Liam for a little bit of support. Niall sharing all his own shit-faced party stories, Louis poking him every time Harry laughs.

Niall begins to go on about how he loves Harry being here. From how Harry laughs at everything Niall does, to how Harry offered earlier on different dips to eat with some of the finger foods. To just about everything, especially how easy it is for Harry to down drinks.

“Harry is so cool! Thank you for bringing him! I love you!” Niall cheers boisterously like the lightweight drunk he is. Well, he could have plenty of beers and always be alright but the second he consumes hardcore liquor, he’s gone with nothing but a hangover the next day to remind him.

Niall lunges in between Zayn and Harry, squeezing his jaw with his fingers and pampers multiple kisses in Zayn’s cheek. Zayn swats him away with a laugh, amused with Niall’s current demeanor, but he’s only a bit agitated because doesn’t want any kisses — especially not in front of Harry.

“I think I’m going to go back to the balcony.” Harry says clear, making a move to turn away from everyone else.  
  
Zayn flares at Niall and he just frowns. He’s about to give Harry the space he needs because that’s how Zayn is — wanting to be alone and undisturbed — but Liam is pointing and tipping him over in the direction Harry left. So fuck, zayn is already hot on his heels towards the direction that leads to Harry.  
  
“Harry?” Zayn knocks at the glass, it makes a serene sound especially with how silent it is upstairs with barely an echo and blurry tune from the music downstairs. “You’re alright, yeah?”  
  
Harry turns around but doesn’t respond. He lets his loose limbs hand over the rail (his hands fiddling with with a water bottle over the edge). The light wind does something to Harry’s curly locks that Zayn absolutely adores. He sees the slight shiver that Harry’s body does natural and he just wants to hold him. But the environment feels wary.  
  
Zayn doesn’t like being ignored. Sure he does it sometimes, but he doesn’t like it when there’s no reason to. He lacks to understand why Harry is upset in anyway. Therefore, he turns Harry by the shoulder and keeps taking steps forward which cause Harry to walk back. It’s exactly what he wants. Harry underneath the light again, leaning against the wall. Where he can see all of him, a flicker of twinkle in his eyes and the glitter on his cheeks shimmering.  
  
“Only angel.” Zayn hums, his thumb instinctively rubs at Harry’s wrist as if this is a way to comfort him or signal body language, that he wants Harry closer.  
  
Harry turns his head, looking over to the side uncomfortably like what Zayn just said disgusted him. Zayn sighs and shakes his head. It’s just that, he feels rejected, feeling awful because he doesn’t know what to think at the moment. To think that he saw himself spending more than just October with Harry, but now he’s not even sure because Harry looks like he doesn’t even want to spare a second with Zayn.  
  
“You have to tell me now. I’m reading this right, aren’t I?” Zayn resists from teaching forward to run a finger along Harry’s jaw. He just wants a touch, but will refuse to right now because he’s unsure of what Harry wants.  
  
Harry sighs and avoids Zayn’s eyes, “I am too but it’s difficult when you’re already dating someone.”  
  
“Wait, what? Who am I even dating?” Zayn is fucking confused, really likes Harry talks to him but doesn’t know what to do with these words. He stifles a laugh and raises his hands to put against the wall, secluding Harry in this small space so that Zayn gets an explanation, gets what he needs before Harry can challenge to leave.  
  
Their faces are closer now, Zayn could lean forward just a little more and have their knees touch, probably feel the stiffness of Harry’s prick (only if he felt the same way as Zayn). Harry’s breath fans on Zayn’s face when he whispers, “Niall.”  
  
Zayn’s mouth drops, not in distraught but utter amusement. He leans back a little and drops his hands to Harry’s hips as he cups them, “No! No, no, no.” Zayn suppresses his laugh into his palm and manages to continue replying, “You’re hilarious, Harry. Always thought so. Not right now. This is such a joke but I don’t see the punchline.”  
  
Harry sears at his hand and Zayn feels guilty for teasing at the wrong time. So he steps back a foot or two, and Harry frowns with an explanation, “Seriously. That night. You were so close, snug. And he fed you. I asked if he’d mind about us talking more and you didn’t really correct me saying you guys were just friends or something.”  
  
“I thought I made it clear from the second I grabbed your hand and told you I’d help you.” Zayn says simply.  
  
“Wasn’t.”  
  
“Hopefully it is now. So like, am I reading us correctly?” Like throughout the whole conversation, Zayn doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants them on Harry but won’t touch yet until he gets an answer that implies Zayn could do so.  
  
“I suppose.” Harry’s grin perks up and that’s all Zayn needs, to go from heart dropping to the solid ground to heart clenching in elation.  
  
Though there are plenty of ways Zayn could approach this situation, he does it in a way where he’ll be able to remember every detail. He only lets a second pass with pure eye contact before he kisses Harry gently, a hand cupping his cheek like he had wanted before. It’s all soft and secure in a way where having Harry this close to him makes him feel safe and well, it just does something that Zayn can’t articulate.  
  
Zayn’s first reaction is to intertwine his fingers with Harry’s because he wants to feel any and every spark with Harry that he can get a hold of. Feeling his lips still tingling from Harry’s, now he’s got the feeling of their sweaty palms together — he knows they’re both nervous.  
  
It’s a stupid thing he comes up with,  because maybe they should go back to the party where they can continue to test the water with more people around to give them a little shove, but instead he blurts, “Louis’ has a room for me.”  
  
“Yes.” Harry says the same time Zayn asks, “Do you want to watch scary movies?”  
  
“Oh, right. I’d like that.” Harry mentions, as if his eagerness wasn’t present just a second ago. It makes Zayn snicker a bit while he puts his hand on Harry’s lower back and walks them towards Louis’ bedroom.  
  
“Can I tell you something?” Harry says when they’re in the room, door shutting behind them with Zayn contemplating on locking it or not. When Zayn nods (and does lock the door), Harry goes on, “I hate parties. Never go, usually. I don’t drink like that, either. And my outfit... I usually prefer would wear what Liam is wearing.”  
  
“Good.” Zayn groans out and jumps onto Louis’ bed. He loves that his best mate already put a new white sheet over it with guest pillows too with a new lavender laundry scent.  
  
“Why?” Harry laughs out, cautious to sit at barely the edge of the bed.  
  
Zayn rugs at Harry’s arm, causing harry to topple over sideways. He ends up crawling next to Zayn as they both lie face  to face with each other. Zayn likes this a lot and manages to confess, “Because I hate all of that shit too.”  
  
“I only did it because I thought it make you more interested. Niall and Louis just seemed so outgoing and I thought it was your type of scene, too.”  
  
“No, babe.” Zayn laughs and leans forward to peck Harry’s lips because he can’t help it, “Did you know I was just reading comics before you showed up?”  
  
Harry props himself on his elbows after poking at Zayn’s chest, “You’ve got a lot going on underneath that.”  
  
“And that means?”  
  
“You’re so silly.” Harry makes Zayn feel silly, like his heart could pound out of his chest. “When I first saw you, you were just so good you know? All in leather jackets and boots, and pretty hair, and piercings on your ears and nose. Intimidating, like. But then you start talking about all these literature stuff. Get a man who can do both, right?”  
  
“Devil and angel. Course, Harry.” Zayn can’t help it. He makes grabby hands and pulls at Harry’s hips until he is completely and naturally gravitating towards Zayn, Harry’s body on top of him. Zayn leans forward so that he and Harry are chest to chest as he hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder.  
  
He just wants to be close to this body, this dumb little idiot who insisted on making Zayn feel better instead of thinking about his own physical pain. But now he considers he’s moving a bit too fast because just last week he was a nervous twat who kept using his terrible flirty skills to make small talk with Harry, so he lets go and lays flat in the bed, staring at the ceiling.  
  
Zayn clears his throat, “Anyways, movies.” He reaches for the remote on the nightstand and decides for something awfully ghoulish and frightening, in hopes that Harry’ll shiver and come crawling his way to find comfort within Zayn’s arms.  
  
Minutes into the horror film, Zayn senses Harry’s jitteriness like he can’t remain in me place. Zayn doesn’t know if it’s from the first scene introducing the chilling tragedy or — well exactly, he doesn’t know what Harry’s doing.  
  
“Are you tired, Harry?” Zayn wants the best for Harry. If he wants to leave, he’s free to head home. Maybe it’s the drinks, probably barely kicking into his system and he needs to dance, needs some activity. Zayn could offer to take a breather or head back downstairs.  
  
Directing his eyes to Harry and the film on and off, he doesn’t expect the weight on his lap. He’s even caught off guard when Harry puts his hands beneath Zayn’s jaw and pulls him into a kiss. It’s rather different than the first one and all those in between this. Harry’s lips are hasty, kissing wet and hard before Zayn even has the chance to pucker up. But he doesn’t mind, he pulls away for a second to breath, then kisses Harry like he means it, like how he’s been wanting to all night since the second they locked eyes.

Harry’s grinding down against him and he can literally feel Harry thickening up, motivating Zayn to deepen the kiss. Zayn pulls Harry down to get his hands tugging at Harry’s curls. Tongues lapping together messily and frantic, too whilst Harry bucking his hips forward against Zayn’s, the moment only gets hotter.  
  
Zayn just wants more, probably needs it. He sees it in Harry’s eyes too when their foreheads rest against each other’s.  
  
“Want to?” Zayn asks with curious eyes raking every inch of Harry’s body hungrily. He wants this badly, craving to explore all of Harry to his taste from how he would react to the lightest touch.  
  
Harry pants while fiddling at the collars of Zayn’s flannel, already sliding the material off his shoulders. “That’s what I thought but no, you wanted to watch movies!”  
  
“Alright, we’re both awful at reading each other. But we’ll get through it.” Zayn leans forward to kiss Harry, a mere flicker of the position they were in earlier where Zayn massively embraced Harry out of instinct. He think they can fuck like this tonight. It would be passionate and just a spark of comfort and memory — their thing. If they even are a thing, Zayn doesn’t know, but he seems foolish to think that they’ve got a thing already. Doesn’t matter, he’ll relish in whatever he has now because it’s their moment.  
  
“I agree. Now get your kit off.” Harry’s voice is high and Zayn can’t wait to hear the product by the end of the night.  
  
Zayn shoves Harry to the side, more aggressive than intended — it actually makes the bed shake and Harry whimper, so he apologizes for that, which earns, “No I like it,” from Harry. Zayn just responds by shaking his head hysterically and telling Harry to watch while he strips off all his remaining articles.  
  
Teasing Harry in just his pants, he lets his fingertips dance on Harry’s hips, slowly gliding them towards the waistband of his jeans. When Harry practically begs, “Please do something,” Zayn uses it to his advantage, taking things achingly slower because he’s got a delight for Harry’s impatient neediness. He palms at Harry’s prick, while leaning Harry down to suck at his skin — nibbling all around his jaw just to find the spot that gets Harry caving in most, releasing this delicate moan. The first one he’s heard all night and he’s already anxious to hear more of these throughout.  
  
“Going to open you up now. Wanna see it all off by the time I’m ready.” Zayn warns as he searches through Louis’ nightstand for anything they can use. He finds a half empty bottle of lube and a few condoms with weird flavors — cringing to himself at the thought of Louis’ germ-infested hands that have touched his own cock now on these items, ones that Zayn and Harry are touching.  
  
“What’s the matter, babe?” Harry coos while he lowers his body, arse in the air, already positioning himself just for Zayn. He would start now if he could but he knows better.  
  
Zayn just laughs, “Louis’ has used touched this bottle right here before, while opening up a bird and here we are.”  
  
“I don’t even want to think about that.” Harry says and drops his face into the pillow where Zayn could hear him exaggerate an irritated groan.  
  
“Tell me what you want then. What do you like Harry?” Zayn asks while rolling the bottle in between his palms to make it less cool when they’ll have to use it in a few minutes. He really wants harry comfortable, never cared too much in the past but for some reason he wants to know all about what Harry want, what would make him feel better, how to make him come hard.  
  
“Small talk, right now? Just get in me.” Harry whines, pushing back to where Zayn is. But Zayn knees his way backwards so Harry’s arse can’t press against his hips.  
  
“Wanna know what you like.” Unexpectedly on Harry’s end, Zayn manages to settle a digit against Harry’s rim teasingly, not willing to prod any further until he gets a response.  
  
Harry releases a quiet sigh, “Read me. Think about it.”  
  
Zayn admits, he loves the concept. They’ve been going weeks trying to understand each other without saying anything, curious of each other's minds and actions. And at this point, he’d love to try harder to get familiar with Harry, especially his body. He comes up with Harry needing a helping hand, needing someone to take care of him right due to the proper klutzy mess he is. He thinks Harry wants someone to tell him how good he’s doing because he appears submissive as fuck, been obedient and willing throughout all of their interactions. Zayn doesn’t stop to think anymore, just does.  
  
“I know you want to be good for me. You’ll do whatever it takes to make me satisfied. You want to hear me worshipping you and your mouth and your pretty hoke and how you work yourself on my cock.” Zayn sneers, finally slipping a digit pass Harry’s rim. He loves the way Harry’s already squirming, pushing back to the knuckle.  
  
But Zayn won’t give in that easy, even as Harry’s begging, “Please, another.” Zayn just smirks with a sly tone, “I didn’t even work this one in yet. Stop being greedy, babes.”  
  
“Come on, please.” Harry whines.

Zayn takes a second to stop his movement, instead, taking in the sight in front of him. Harry’s hair sprawled over his shoulders and on the white sheets, how he’s rocking back, hole clenching and unclenching. Zayn knows he deserves it, hasn’t done a damn thing wrong at all so who is he to deprive Harry like this. He gets himself to drizzle a little more lubricant between Harry’s cleft and slip two fingers in at once, slowly thrusting them in and letting himself enjoy the breathy moans from Harry — the ones caught in the sheets because Harry doesn’t seem to want to raise his head up from the mattress.  
  
“Just tell me when.” Zayn hums, really appreciating how flush Harry is and they haven’t gotten into anything serious yet. He thinks of how he’d like to rim him right about now, yet, Harry doesn’t deserve that much — he made Zayn think about what he likes, never responded so zayn concludes with, no he won’t eat out Harry.  
  
Three fingers in for minutes now, Zayn's aware of Harry’s fists tightening around the sheets. He contemplates if he really wants to fuck Harry the way he envisioned earlier or if he should give in right now. Because he does love this sight already, and would love to see himself bury deep inside Harry. Then again, he thinks he needs Harry’s face — wants to see Harry’s eyes widen when he first slides down on Zayn’s length, fantasizes to have Harry wrap his arms around Zayn’s shoulder and cry into his neck.  
  
“How do you want this?” Zayn asks, unsure of what he wants to do so he’s settling with Harry. He slips his digits out of Harry and turns him over. He gazes fondly at Harry’s obscene image and offers, “Was thinking you could ride me, sort of. Like how you were on my lap though, with your legs around me. I’d still fuck into you.”  
  
“Yes, please. I’m ready.” Harry says breathlessly and Zayn nods, adjusting himself towards the center of the bed and pats at his lap. Harry’s tearing the condom packet open and is using too little slick but he insists it’s fine because he likes the slight burn anyways.  
  
Harry smiles at him genuinely and they share a quick, chaste kiss before Harry is pumping  at Louis’ cock before sinking down. He moans out loudly, it’s heavy and high — something Zayn can’t describe but definitely both at once. With Harry’s legs wrapped around him, he brings their bodies even closer, as close as possible and nibbles beneath Harry’s jaw.  
  
“Stay there for a second,” Harry whispers out, trailing his hands up and down Zayn’s back gently, in a soothing gesture. Zayn wants to generate the same comfortable feeling for Harry so he does the same to the sides of his body and continues to pepper Harry with kisses all over his jaw and neck and shoulders.  
  
Harry gives him the okay when he feels Harry’s nod, chin hooking over Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn progresses his upward thrusts in tandem with Harry rocking down, both in attempt to create a steady movement between the two. And it’s just that Harry is still so tight, that Zayn doesn’t know what to do besides move already, so he does.  
  
“You look so good,” Zayn has to assure him because he wants Harry to know, wants Harry to feel good about this — that Zayn isn’t here for one night just because he can get Harry in bed at a holiday gathering, no. “I’ve been wanting this.” And maybe he hasn’t been, because he’s been to in tune with Harry’s personality the last three weeks, but right now... right now he wants it.  
  
Zayn brings his hands to Harry’s hips, a tight grip that’s sure to provide bruises the following day and guides Harry down on his cock while he begins to thrust deep into Harry. He’s plummeting forward without a care of the headboard banging against the wall, the last thing on his mind his how people might hear them from through the window. He just angles his hips in a way that gets Harry moaning most, breathing heavily against Harry’s neck that’s tainted in bruises now as well, sure that Harry will wear one of his cute, yet tacky scarves to cover it up. Harry just, he keeps cursing out in erratic breaths, “Fuck."

“Give me your hand.” Harry pants out, reaching down to where Zayn’s hands cup Harry’s hips. Zayn allows him, feeling himself loosen his tenseness, giving into wherever Harry directs him. His hand is on Harry’s collarbones and he thumbs at it for a few seconds, losing acceleration of his thrusts from the lack of support that once balanced Harry.  
  
Harry positions Zayn’s hand cupping around his neck, where his fingers press behind and his thumb against the tender surface. Sultry and full of exhaustion, harry moans out, “Choke me.”  
  
“Harry, no.” Zayn says immediately and stops both their hips from moving all at once, he pries his hand away but Harry has a tight hold around his wrist.  
  
“I get off to it. Please.” Harry whines with his eyes hazily hooded and his curls bouncing in every way when he gets back on track to fucking down on Zayn’s cock. Zayn can’t say no. He doesn’t want to say no, it would disappoint Harry; and he shouldn’t say no, he might not get the opportunity to try something like this again.  
  
Zayn musters up the attitude he’s capable of — that dominance that he knows harry loves, knows it even if they’ve been at this for only thirty minutes. Now, now he knows Harry likes someone taking control of him because when Zayn digs his fingers into Harry’s meat, he moans contently, when Zayn praises Harry, his cheeks turn a bright red, and it’s just when Zayn does the slightest thing, he reacts so passionately.  
  
With all things in consideration, Zayn swats Harry’s hands away and snakes his arms around Harry’s waist. He flips their bodies over so that he’s above Harry, preparing to having a better grip around Harry’s neck. Positioning himself comfortably and spreading Harry’s legs, he leans down and sucks at Harry’s lips and in between it all he breaths out, “I’ve got you.”  
  
“When it’s too much, you do not hesitate to pinch me, okay?” Harry nods beneath Zayn’s gaze, making him grin because Harry trusts him apparently, and he quite actually trusts Harry. But it’s not enough. He wants to hear it; so he reaches down for Harry’s precome spluttering prick, projecting a stern face to present how serious he is for something like this, he gives the head a pinch with his thumb and index finger, “A pinch. Got it?” 

“Yes, yes.” Harry whines out. “Please, just do it.” Harry reaches for both of Zayn’s hands. One guiding towards his own neck and as for the other one, he intertwines with his own hands and kissed at their laced fingers.  
  
Taking things smoothly, he begins to thrust gradually to get a steady just before pressing down on Harry’s throat experimentally. He sees the way Harry’s eyes tighten and it makes his stomach pool with sensation and the determination to see Harry make a mess beneath him. That’s when he pounds into Harry relentlessly, not caring about sloppy thrusts or how he just might come before Harry. He feels like he’s using Harry — way with a grip on his neck and fucking into him hard. But he’s assured when Harry runs his hands up and down Zayn’s arm, mumbling, “Tighter.”  
  
Zayn gives in and bottoms out before letting go for a few seconds to kiss Harry all over his face. He feels guilt rack up in his system but remembers that Harry wants this. Ignoring every little concern he has, his only motive is to fuck the come out of Harry, therefore he presses his thumb down Harry’s windpipe and pounds into him with quick hasty thrusts, everything like earlier except he allows himself to thrust deep to get at Harry’s prostate. Something he manages successfully almost right away and he knows because Harry writhers beneath him and nods his head frantically.  
  
“Gonna come.” Harry cries out but it’s barely audible, but it doesn’t take too much for Zayn to understand. He gets his other hand around Harry’s prick and strokes him until his legs are quivering and streams of white coat his fist, still maintaining control in his thrusts to come simultaneously — mostly because of the way Harry drops his head back and how his body shakes and shivers when he’s getting off, choking even. He’s heaving for a breath when he’s crying out, “Zayn, Zayn, Zayn,” and really, Zayn never would've thought this could be something he’d enjoy.  
  
The way Harry moans out his name all raspy, he thinks he could come a second time but he doesn’t. He just continues to ride out his high while letting loose of Harry’s neck and continuing to accompany him with his orgasm, watching the stripes paint his stomach.

Discarding the latex lazily and fetching a cloth for Harry, he’s endeared of the way Harry lies on his back while cuddling at the pillow, looking awfully exhausted and sinfully wrecked.  
  
“Really wanted to taste you. Either. But we didn’t get to that.” Zayn sighs and runs his hands up and down Harry’s body in a way where it feels like his fingers are paint brushes and Harry’s body is a free canvas.  
  
“Next time?”  
  
“So there is?” Zayn asks with eyes bright. Of course he knew they were bound to keep some connection, hopefully something exclusive and promising. It just still feels unreal to hear it.  
  
“As long as you don’t punch me. But I wouldn’t mind a slap next time we’re at it.” Zayn flashes him a look of disapproval because there are boundaries, some in which he’s not ready to cross yet. He doesn’t judge Harry for whatever his kinks are, he just thinks it’s too early in this thing for them two to explore. It’s like Harry can actually read him for once, because he’s giggling, “Too soon?”  
  
Zayn shakes his head with a grin and right as he’s done he taking care of Harry, he Zayn replaces the pillow with himself. With the comfort of just them two, it’s just a thin sheet and the window opened ajar. Zayn’s aware that the cool air flows in but it’s a tactic of his so their warmth can radiate off each other — wants nothing more than to hold Harry.  
  
Harry yawns before swinging a leg over Zayn’s body, tucking himself close to where his lips hover around Zayn’s ear, “I told you about what I did to impress you tonight. I actually want to go back to what I did the other night.”  
  
Still recovering from the swelling heart because he’s just so overwhelmed of Harry’s presence — yes, still — he whispers, “What?”  
  
Harry snuggles closer to Zayn, letting his head rest on his chest, “I saw you, afraid. I meant to ask if you were okay, touched you because I wanted to just hold you. Somehow I spooked you out instead because it felt more natural than stopping to ask something like that. Felt like it would of embarrassed you. And then you punched me. But I get it, self defense.”  
  
“Did I ever say sorry?” Zayn laughs as he raises the thin sheet over their heads as if it’s a force field from anyone else. Something about wanting it to be just the two of them even if, in this room alone, it is.  
  
“I’m sure you did. But it doesn’t matter anyways. What if I didn’t approach you? Wouldn’t of ever had this.” Harry lathers Zayn’s collarbone with soft, little kisses.  
  
“What? All the bruises.”  
  
“Every shade is a different story.”  
  
And there just happens to be purple from the punch, red from the ramming, and a mix of both entangled in the sheets.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Only meant to have one tiny scene of Z punching H and them eating and going on the train together - but I added more moments. Damn it. 
> 
> twitter + tumblr @ zar0ld !


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